Matter of Craft with Steve Almond
In this installment of Matter of Craft, Steve Almond, author of All the Secrets of the World, talks about working through doubt, productive forms of bewilderment, writing long form, and what he has been reading.
What first sparked the idea for All the Secrets of the World?
SA: When I was about thirteen, the father of one of my friends, a quiet professor of astronomy, was abducted. His jeep was found in the desert and there were “signs of foul play.” Everyone at school was completely horrified and obsessed. When I showed up at my friend’s house, a few weeks later, I remember that his mother’s hair had turned white. I’ve never forgotten that image. So that was the earliest spark. But there were other inspirations. For example, as a young reporter in El Paso, I was led into the desert by a couple of zoologists who studied scorpions. They had a huge ultra-violent lamp with them, and when they turned it on, hundreds of scorpions became visible all around us, fluorescing like the glow-in-the-dark toys they used to put in cereal boxes. That scene, somewhat reimagined, went straight into the book. So did the image of young Mexican women crossing the Rio Grande at dawn to come work in America, which I saw routinely when I was living in El Paso. I’m a firm believer that we write about what haunts us, the stuff we can’t rid of by other means.
After years of writing short stories and essays, what made you want to write a novel? Had you always wanted to explore long-form fiction?
SA: I’m sorry to report that All the Secrets of the World is actually my fifth novel. The first four remain unpublished. All of which is to say: I’ve been trying to write a novel for a long time. The problem is that writing novels is hard. The architecture is so much more elaborate. You have a cast of characters whose fates are intertwined, and you have to devise a plot that keeps the action hurtling forward. For me, the key to that momentum lay in the realization that all of my characters were keeping secrets—both from each other, but also from themselves. This made their interactions much more charged, because there was always the fear that they’d spill the beans.
Did you outline this book or have any kind of structuring process that you can share with us?
SA: I’d be lying if I told you I had an outline. I’m just not that organized. But I did have a pretty clear idea of where the story was headed. And I think that’s crucial, because in my own experience, when I don’t know where a story is headed, I start to flog the language. I devised the plot by thinking about each character’s internal conflicts. For instance, my heroine Lorena has been told all her life to remain invisible, because her family is undocumented, and for them, it’s dangerous to be seen. At the same time, she’s fourteen years old and lonely, and thus desperate to be seen. So for me, the plot has to grant her this wish, but in a way that subjects her and her family to unforeseen dangers.
What does your writing routine look like? Take us through a day in the life. (Also did your process change at all when writing this novel?)
SA: Oh my. I wish I had a writing routine. But I’ve got three kids, and I’m the primary breadwinner in our family, so my days are completely bonkers. In theory, I write in the mornings, which is when I’m able to concentrate the best. But that’s not always possible, especially because our kids were learning remotely for 18 months. There’s really no way to stay in a fictional world when you’ve got a rowdy second grader in the next room. At a certain point, both my wife and I realized that we needed extended blocks of time, away from our house. So we started doing writing retreats on the cheap. Ultimately, as a writer, you have to figure out what process works best for you. When are you sharpest at the keyboard? Do you like to write in short bursts, or long sessions? Do you do best after a glass of wine, or coffee? These are all questions only you can answer. I’m emphasizing that because as a young writer, I was always asking more established writers about their process. I figured if I adopted their way of doing things I’d enjoy the same results. But all of us have different circadian rhythms and different pressures and different home lives. My advice is to figure out when and how you do the best work, then design your life—to the extent possible—so that you have that space to work. Also: please be patient. Writing is mostly about outlasting your doubt.
What is your favorite piece (or pieces) of craft advice that you give your students?
SA: This is going to sound like such a letdown, but I always tell my students: Never confuse the reader. I emphasize this because I read so many manuscripts where the writer keeps leaping into scenes, without providing the context necessary for the reader to understand those scenes. I do this myself, all the time. And it leads to a situation where the reader is in a state of unproductive bewilderment. I use that term because I do think there are productive forms of bewilderment. The stories we write (whether novels, memoirs, plays, etc.) are an effort to explore the essential mysteries of our species: How do endure loss? Why do we choose partners who cause us pain? What are we supposed to do with our lives? Our work should focus on these bewilderments. But that’s really hard when the reader simply doesn’t what’s going on, who’s in the room, what’s at stake. So my advice is this: tell the reader just enough that they can feel what they’re being shown. I also urge writers to focus on telling the truth as simply, and precisely, as possible. The beauty we experience in language is the residue of that pursuit of the truth.
If you could make a playlist for All the Secrets of the World, what are a few songs you might put on it?
SA: We’d need some songs by Blondie, because that’s the band that Lorena and her friend Jenny Stallworth worship. I especially love “Heart of Glass,” because it’s so full of yearning. The book is set in 1981, so I’d want some hits from that era: “Bette Davis Eyes,” “Queen of Hearts,” “Jessie’s Girl.” I’d also want to include the music of Los Tigres Del Norte, which is the group that Lorena’s mom loves. Los Tigres are a hugely important band, because they write songs about the immigrant experience. The one that has always stood out to me is “Tres Veces Mojado” (the rough translation would be “Three Times a Wetback”). It’s about the particular hardships that immigrants from Central America—like Lorena’s family—endure.
Favorite book (s) you have read in the last few months.
SA: I really dug “Something Wild,” by Hanna Halperin, and “How to Be Eaten,” by Maria Adalmann, both of which deal with how women process trauma. I adored Brad Listi’s debut novel, “Be Brief and Tell Them Everything.” It’s a slender book, but it’s absolutely packed with strange and gorgeous insights. And I absolutely loved “A Tiny Upward Shove,” by Melissa Chadburn, which is a social novel about how young women become victims of predation. I was lucky enough to teach Melissa, and to read an early draft of the novel, so I got to see how she shaped and reshaped the book, making it more precise and piercing every pass. That was super inspiring. It took her nearly a decade, but she stuck with it. I love stories like that, because most people take years to figure out how to write a novel, and what they need most of all isn’t advice, so much as faith. So take it from me, a guy who spent three decades failing at novels: if I can do it, you can do it.
Steve Almond is the author of ten books of fiction and nonfiction, including the New York Times bestsellers Candyfreak and Against Football. He teaches Creative Writing at the Neiman Fellowship at Harvard and Wesleyan, as well as Hugo House, Grub Street, and numerous literary conferences. His essays and reviews have been widely published in The New York Times Magazine, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, The Los Angeles Times, GQ, The Wall Street Journal, Poets & Writers, Tin House, and Ploughshares. His journalism has received numerous awards including the top national prize for feature writing from the Society of Professional Journalists. His short stories have been anthologized in The Best American Short Stories, Best American Mysteries, Best American Erotica, and The Pushcart Prize. He serves as a literary correspondent for WBUR and appears on numerous podcasts. He lives in Arlington, Massachusetts.
